Renewal
by Melodious329
Summary: After Archangel, Richie didn't die. Methos finds him, but then what? Can Richie's relationship with Mac be salvaged? And what does Methos really want? Slash Methos/Richie
1. Chapter 1

Renewal

Renewal

Takes place after Archangel (I don't know if it's exactly right but Mac spent a year in the eastern monasteries before returning to Paris to defeat Ahriman)

Methos and Joe sat in the older mortal's Paris bar staring into bottomless glasses of whiskey. Joe looked like he literally might fall apart at any moment, his face was pinched and tired, his body tense and brittle. The ancient immortal sympathized with the man. He kept seeing Richie's headless body lying at the racetrack, the boy's own blood covering his clothes and the cement under him. And his face, eyes frozen open in mute horror. He had the most beautiful blue eyes and the blue had stood out even more against the bloodless white of his unattached head but they were no longer beautiful because Richie himself was no longer shining out of them.

Methos couldn't understand why he couldn't get the picture out of his head. He'd certainly seen enough headless bodies in his time and he'd been on both sides of betraying friend, but this was …unnatural. He shook his head to clear it, only then realizing that Joe was talking to him. He was telling some story of Richie and one of his many girlfriends and laughing at the telling. It was good to hear that laugh, good to laugh now after Richie's funeral, Richie had never been somber. Not that he had really known the kid that well.

"Richie had a certain charm with the ladies alright," Joe's voice was scratchy and low.

"Yeah well his looks didn't hurt either," Methos added with his own grin. Joe turned a surprised face to him.

"You looked at Richie?!"

"Joe I have eyes," Methos waggled his eyebrows teasingly. "The kid was good-looking."

Joe chuckled into his drink. "MacLeod would have had your head for touching him."

"Well that's certainly one reason I never did." The ancient immortal stared into his glass, tilting it in the light, the mood suddenly turning somber again. "The young ones don't seem to last very long anymore." Joe wiped his hand over his face as if the pain would be as easy to wipe away.

Methos left town after that. He couldn't stay, even to comfort Joe. If MacLeod asked to die again, Methos might just give him his wish. The Highlander was Methos's friend, from their first meeting when the younger immortal had stood in his apartment and called him by his name as if the word had the power to conjure the ancient into life again. And Mac had offered his protection before he even knew the old man. Mac deserved the prize if anyone did and Methos was just arrogant enough to think of ensuring that he got it.

But now, what would MacLeod be worth now? It wasn't just Richie Ryan who died that day. And if Mac did come back, he didn't need a cynical old man there taunting him with life's mysteries but being unable to offer anything more wise than 'life is hard'. No it was time to go.

Methos ended up in Iran. He lied to himself that he was only there because he hadn't been to the Middle East recently; course recent was a relative term. Joe sent him an email saying that MacLeod had returned to Paris and defeated the demon. Methos ignored it. That day though he ended up wandering around a Zoroastrian temple and he felt it. The buzz of another immortal sputtering into life jarred his senses and he quickly set out to find the source, thankful they were on holy ground.

His search came to an abrupt end when he found a naked man lying in a remote corner. The immortal was apparently unconscious and…Methos moved closer to get a better look and stopped, shock freezing the blood in his veins. It was Richie! He looked around frantically but saw no one. He kneeled next to the man, staring at him intently.

Richie looked exactly as he had that day. He still had short hair and a faint tan and was well muscled as Methos could clearly see now. Obviously the boy hadn't been kept in a cell somewhere for all this time but then where had he been? He shrugged out of his coat and wrapped the still unconscious form in it. If he was breaking his own often spouted rule to 'do nothing' well all he could say was this was definitely a special, nay extraordinary case.


	2. Chapter 2

Still when he got them in the hotel room, Methos didn't want to take any chances

Still when he got them in the hotel room, Methos didn't want to take any chances. He tucked the young immortal into the bed and sat next to it with a handgun, waiting. Waiting and thinking. Could this really be Richie? Would it be that simple? MacLeod might still be saved if the boy could be returned to him unharmed. But then Methos felt a pang of emotion he didn't want to recognize. He felt protective of the youth. Richie seemed so vulnerable lying there on Methos's bed and so young. For once that was true, Richie was young, painfully so. He desperately wanted to keep the boy safe but the only one it seemed Richie needed protecting from was MacLeod. Should Methos even tell Mac? Well those thoughts didn't bear thinking about, not yet, not until the figure woke up and Methos could confirm his identity.

Suddenly the redheaded bundle on the bed moved and then the youth shot up to a sitting position, taking in the room, his lack of clothes, and finally settling on Methos's face.

"Adam?! What the hell? Where am I, where's Mac…Joe? He's in danger!" Methos gripped the other man's forearms and stared at the blue eyes until they were forced to lock onto his own hazel ones.

"Richie you're safe, they're safe…but a lot has happened. I need you to calm down and then tell me what you remember." His voice was gentle but firm. Methos sat down on the bed as Richie moved back to lean on the headboard. The youth began to take deep breaths and then closed his eyes and brought a hand up to rub his face. Then he began.

"Joe was in a car, he was held at gunpoint and so I followed the car to the racetrack, but when I got there I couldn't find anyone for the longest time. Then there was this man, that Horton guy that you all talk about and he was holding a sword to Mac's neck. His eyes were glowing red and he said that only one of us had to die, me or Mac. I could see in his eyes that Mac wanted me to leave him, to save myself, but…he's the better man. He should be the one to win not me, I'm lucky to have survived this long and I'm certainly not a hero. So I kneeled down but before I could put down my sword I was suddenly standing behind Mac and he was fighting air again. I saw his sword come toward me and I wanted to move, to scream, anything but I couldn't even lift my sword. I felt…" his hands reached for his neck and he looked confused. Then he looked at the old man, expectant.

Methos's shock had grown considerably during Richie's story though he kept the feeling off his face. After five thousand years, Methos considered himself a good judge of character. This was Richie Ryan which meant that the kid had no idea what had happened and how much time had passed.

"Richie," Methos began. He couldn't help reaching a hand out to lay on the youth's knee, a warning and a comfort. "MacLeod thinks he killed you, when Joe and I got there he was kneeling beside your beheaded corpse. It's been a year since that night."

Wide disbelieving eyes stared back at the ancient immortal but he just continued. "MacLeod was devastated, he's only now returned to Paris and faced the demon. Apparently he defeated it."

"But I'm not dead."

"Obviously." They both stared at the bedspread, thinking. For Methos's part he was wondering why the hell not. Richie certainly looked dead at the time. Perhaps it was because the demon couldn't impact the game in such a blatant way by paralyzing a participant. Perhaps it was because of the boy's selflessness, not that Methos believed that there was ever a reward for such foolish actions but still he considered it.

Richie's head lifted. "A year?" he asked quietly. Methos nodded. Only then did he remember his hand on the boy's knee, he squeezed it before letting go and getting up.

"The only real question is what to do with you now."

Methos said it with a smile but Richie was not amused. In fact the kid was kind of scowling. Too late Methos realized that the kid probably didn't like being treated like that, like a kid. Particularly now when his life was spinning out of control. Methos couldn't even fathom how he must feel, how to come to grips with the fact that a year of his life was missing, a year in which things had changed irrevocably.

Again they were both silent. Finally Methos moved over to the phone, calling the front desk to get a suite instead. He packed up his things, setting out clothes for Richie and disappearing into the bathroom to let the young man get changed. The Richie he knew was not too keen on dressing in front of strangers, but Methos was not about to let the young man out of his sight for long.

Once in the suite, Richie retreated to his own bedroom, closing the door. Methos flopped onto the small scratchy couch in their new living space. God what he wouldn't give to just fob the infant immortal off on someone else and get the hell out of here. But there was no one else.

Yes Methos had thought the younger immortal attractive, distractingly so, but Methos had never really spent any time with Richie, had in fact avoided the other man outside of MacLeod's company. He wasn't interested in having a student, hadn't been for hundreds of years. But he didn't really see Richie as a student. Maybe it was during the whole Kristin fiasco, when Richie had turned to him for understanding. "Doesn't it get old, him knowing everything?" Richie had asked him. Methos had known then not to get too involved. Richie was too tempting so he had stayed away from temptation as much as possible.

Maybe he should just call MacLeod to come get the kid. It would solve his problems but somehow Methos didn't think that was a good idea. He didn't even know if Richie _wanted _to see his mentor again yet, or ever. Maybe he should just ask the youth.

Realizing how late it was getting, Methos picked up the telephone again, thankful that he had for once, stayed at a decent hotel with a concierge desk. He ordered some clothes in Richie's size, jeans, t-shirts, underwear, tennis shoes to be delivered and then managed to dig up some American food, hamburgers and fries.

The smell of food did not rouse Richie from his room, another bad sign. Methos knocked before opening the door. Richie was lying on the bed, but sat up as the other immortal entered.

"Dinner," Methos said mildly.

"No thank you," was Richie's sullen response.

Great, Methos thought. He's acting like a child who has been sent to his room, like he's being punished. But Methos didn't want the youth to see him as an authority figure, the mythical Methos, but rather as a friend.

"Rich," Methos sighed as he sat on the bed next to the forlorn figure. "What do you want to do now?" Blue eyes looked up in confusion. Methos continued in a softer voice meant to demonstrate sympathy. "Do you want to go back to Paris? To MacLeod?"

Richie actually winced at the sound of his mentor's name. Swallowing and not looking up from the hideous hotel bedspread, "No. I just uh…please don't tell him I'm alive yet. I'll get out of here tomorrow. I don't know where I'll go, but I just need some time to think. I can't face him yet."

Methos nodded. Richie didn't even have a sword and he thought Methos was going to just let him walk out the door. Not even Methos was that cold.

"Well if you don't know where you're headed, I was thinking about taking a vacation. You could come with me." Methos tried to sound indifferent but Richie stared at him like he had grown a third head.

So Methos plowed on. "Somewhere with a beach perhaps, what do you think?" He attempted a smirk but the effect was lost on his companion. Richie actually looked afraid, afraid to accept help or kindness. Thank you MacLeod for reinforcing the cycle of rejection, Methos thought.

"Why?" Richie asked him. "It's not like you and I are exactly friends." Again pain lanced the young immortal's features at the word 'friend' with its current connotations.

Methos smirked but his eyes were serious as he answered. "You just came back from the dead. I think you're someone I'd like to know better." He walked out of the bedroom, feeling the astonishment of the blue eyes watching his exit.

He left the other man alone for the rest of the night. Methos spent the time making travel arrangements, hacking into Seacouver's Child Services website, and checking on the watcher reports on MacLeod. He didn't know what he expected to find, that Mac was coming to Iran to find his dead student? Not likely.

The next morning, Richie came out of his room without prodding. Methos had ordered breakfast and the young man gave in to his hunger, cleaning his plate. Methos had also packed both of their belongings already and arranged for a cab to the airport. Richie said nothing when Methos informed him as to their travel plans.


	3. Chapter 3

Their trip was uneventful, Richie's morose demeanor adding to Methos's general frustration with airports

Their trip was uneventful, Richie's morose demeanor adding to Methos's general frustration with airports. They were headed to Sydney Australia where Methos had rented a bungalow on the beach. Very expensive, but Methos wanted someplace fun, that would bring a smile to the youth's face.

And he got his wish. Richie hadn't been able to contain the smile breaking through on his face as he caught sight of the beach right outside. He had wanted to go walk on it immediately, slipping off his shoes to walk in the sand barefoot. Methos didn't want to think about how happy he was to see a little of the old Richie come out.

They went to a nearby grocery store afterwards. Richie's barely restrained enthusiasm was infecting Methos as they bought food for grilling outdoors and the prerequisite beer. It became increasingly difficult for Methos to maintain his unaffected façade.

It didn't hold. They were standing in the check out line, trying to buy their food choices and the clerk was an older man intent on chatting. "So how are you kids enjoying your vacation?"

Richie started snickering the moment the word 'kids' left the man's mouth. It blossomed into a full-blown belly laugh when Methos glared at him. Soon Methos couldn't keep the smile off his own face even as he punched the younger man in the arm for his insolence. By the time they were leaving, bags in hand, Richie was wiping the tears from the corners of his eyes.

"Great even if I make it to five thousand…" the kid started even as they both dissolved into giggles.

For the next few days it was fantastic. They acted just as they appeared to the world, two twenty-something buff guys hanging out on the beach, swimming, body boarding, and throwing a Frisbee around. They were friendly and competitive, reveling in the sun and easy companionship. And Methos laughed, more than he had in a long time, not the bitter, sarcastic laugh that Mac or Joe might associate with him, but light genuine laughs that bubbled up from inside Methos as if they could not be contained and left him rolling on the sand.

And if Methos attempted some wild moves, breaking his wrist in a dive for the Frisbee, like he was trying to impress the kid, the ancient man tried not to think about it. Or the feeling of jealousy that sometimes stole over him as he watched beautiful bikini clad women fawn over Richie's muscled physique. But Richie never did more than flirt which was worryingly unlike the boy however happy it made Methos. The ancient man put it off to the youth realizing he already had enough entanglements in his life.

He was never that good at lying to himself though. This sordid mess was enough for him to rethink his position on the existence of fate. Here he was forced by incredible circumstances to interact, to get to know an incredibly beautiful young immortal. A young man who made Methos feel both wise and foolish. But they had to deal with some unresolved issues sooner or later.

Turns out it was sooner. That day was like any other, they were throwing the Frisbee on the beach, tackling each other in the surf…God it was a good thing that Methos had had five thousand years to practice his self control because the feel of that hard body landing on his back, Richie's arms reaching around him for the Frisbee Methos clutched to his chest would have tempted a saint. Except this time as Methos sat in the sand, the water swirling around him, watching Richie walk away triumphant with the stupid plastic disc, this time Richie's suit leg had gotten caught, exposing his usually carefully covered thigh and the scars that crossed the back of it.

Methos was not surprised. He actually didn't know why Richie even bothered. The first day they went out to the beach and Richie was wearing a pair of cargo khakis that the kid had cut off just below the knees instead of the board shorts that Methos had bought for him, Methos had known. But Richie was still horrified at what had been revealed.

And horror transformed to shame and anger in short order. Methos watched the beautiful features of Richie's face harden, shuttering his emotions away. Then the young man jerked the offending fabric down, and turned to walk away.

Methos shook himself out of his stunned silence. Running after the other man, he yelled, "Rich, wait!" The glare that he was given as Richie turned stopped Methos in his tracks though. The effect was ruined however when the blue eyes filled with tears. He moved forward again as the young man sank to the sand, sitting beside their red cooler.

Methos kneeled in front of the other immortal, aware that they were making a scene, exactly what neither of them wanted but Richie obviously didn't care.

"Let's talk about this…" the older man began in what he hoped was a calming voice, but Richie cut him off.

"What is this really? You take me on vacation, play nice with me, get me to open up about…_everything_ so that I go back to MacLeod?!"

Methos was stunned. It was entirely too close to the truth. How had this child seen through him so easily?

"It wasn't like that."

"Three times he tried to kill me and you probably can't wait to send me back! You probably don't even like me!"

Richie's voice climbed higher and higher, becoming almost hysterical. At the end, the young man made a funny little choking sound, the helplessness of the noise causing Methos's own breath to catch. He didn't know what to say, what he _could_ say that would take away the pain in Richie's voice. So he improvised, did what he had wanted to do since he had met the young man, looking up from the dojo floor into a pair of startlingly blue eyes.

Methos gripped the back of the boy's head and pulled Richie forward into a kiss.

When Methos pulled back, he had to suppress a grimace at the deer-in-headlights look on the other man's face. Then he was biting back a laugh as an amazing color of red crept up into Richie's face from his neck spreading down onto his chest as well. To his credit though, Richie did not look around to see if anyone on the beach was looking at them. In fact Richie just stared into Methos's eyes for a long moment as they both attempted to breathe normally again.

Finally Richie spoke, "I uh…"

"I'm sorry," Methos interrupted, breaking their eye contact.

"Don't. Don't apologize." Methos jerked his head up in surprise. "Unless you didn't mean it?" Richie suddenly sounded unsure.

"No," Methos said quickly, smiling himself as his prompt answer produced a smile in his young companion that Richie tried desperately to control. The effort was in vain. "No." He reiterated and this time his answer was adamant…and hopeful.

"Let's go inside."

Richie immediately stood up, carrying the cooler inside and finally taking a look around to see if anyone had been watching their argument. Methos followed behind a little slower. He used the time to think and foremost in his thoughts was what the hell was he doing?! And that was followed by what the hell had he gotten himself into. And yet, there in the back of his mind, but growing louder with very step, was a yell of triumph, a dance of victory…but what was he going to do now?

When he entered the bungalow, he found Richie pacing nervously in front of the couch, a fresh beer on the coffee table. The young man stilled, looking at Methos as he entered. It was obvious to Methos that he wasn't the only one who was having some doubts as to whether this was a good idea.

"Methos, I uh…I've never, I mean I've thought about it, when Mac talked about his…you know and Brian Cullen…but there wasn't an opportunity…and I want…"

During Richie's rambling explanation, Methos had been calmly walking over to the young man. Ok so Richie was rather badly trying to let him down gently, he had thrown a gambit and it had been rejected. Maybe he should call Joe…

Surprise wasn't the word for what Methos felt when Richie's hand abruptly slid to the back of his neck. Methos's brain cells ceased to function in the aftermath of the bright burn of that gentle touch. He was barely aware of Richie leaning toward him, blue eyes flickering between Methos's eyes and his lips. And then Richie was kissing him deeply, sliding his tongue into Methos's mouth.

Methos didn't know whether he overbalanced or whether Richie pushed him but suddenly, he fell back onto the couch. Richie followed him straddling his lap. Methos guessed that this was probably an unfamiliar position for the youth but it only caused a slight hesitation. But then Methos made the mistake of resting his hands on Richie's upper thighs. The younger man started and pulled back a little, his eyes widening. It was as if he was only now realizing what was happening, seeing the whole picture, that he was sitting on a man's lap with a man's hands uncomfortably close to his groin.

Richie gave a strangled, desperate sound and placed his hands on Methos's chest pushing himself away. The younger immortal toppled backward off the couch and Methos's lap, hitting the coffee table. The boy, the coffee table, and the neglected beer all hit the floor with a resounding crash in the otherwise still room.

Methos leapt up to kneel in front of the younger man again, careful not to touch Richie who was a little shaky and breathing hard. Richie didn't meet his eyes but words tumbled from his mouth.

"I can't do this. I'm sorry, I want to…but I can't." His voice was anguished and self-effacing.


	4. Chapter 4

Methos did touch the young man then, gripping Richie's forearms to pull him up to stand and then pushing him gently toward the couch

Methos did touch the young man then, gripping Richie's forearms to pull him up to stand and then pushing him gently toward the couch.

"Shhhh, just sit."

Methos went into the kitchen to get a fresh beer for Richie, hurrying back. He left the mess of the spilled beer on the floor. He would clean it up later but right now he didn't want Richie to spend too much time with his thoughts. Sitting beside the redhead, he handed over the beer. Richie's hands only mildly shook as he attempted a sip. Again the ancient man was struck by a strong desire to cradle the young man in his arms, to feed him grapes or something, and to keep him safe…happy.

"Tell me." Methos meant for his voice to be gently persuasive, to invite confidence. It didn't work.

Richie shook his head fiercely. The younger immortal sat on the edge of a cushion, his forearms on his knees, cradling the beer in his hands.

"Richie, when I was a slave," Methos stopped, horrified at his own words. Was he really considering telling Richie about that, baring his soul here on this ugly floral couch? But then he looked up into the younger man's face. Richie must have realized Methos's own reluctance to talk about the past, his own horror and Methos was amazed at what he saw. Richie's face showed such tender concern, offered such strength.

Yes if Richie needed him to, Methos would relive the worst experiences of his life, in memory or in reality. Funny that he had thought MacLeod had made him live again, risk again, love. That was nothing compared to the follies that Richie's blue eyes entreated him to. MacLeod may have reintroduced him to life but Richie made Methos happy about it.

But it wasn't as simple as that. Methos had chosen to love Alexa despite the impending loss of the woman. But loving another immortal was different, in some ways worse. He had been forcibly reminded that he could not shield her from death any more than he could shield Richie. But with another immortal, the possibility of getting involved in each other's challenges was high. The risk to Methos was not only emotional but also physical, it was too easy for relationships amongst immortals to lead to death. Richie might be young but he was his own man and he would make his own decisions. And Methos might very well not agree with those decisions, but he would have to live with them.

And yet he couldn't walk away from this opportunity, this chance at happiness. The second that Richie had woken up in that hotel room, Methos felt like his options had been taken away. It was like a second chance had been dropped literally into his lap. He had been forced to interact with the young man, forced to acknowledge this latent desire. How could he let it just slip away? All he had to do was spill his guts.

"Sad to think that I can't remember the first time that I had sex, can't remember the other person's face. I never remember a time when I was other than I am now, don't remember being younger. I remember having to learn how to read and write but not how to use a sword. In those days being enslaved was quite common. More than that, in one way or another most women or even men did not choose their bedmates. And we by our very nature are vulnerable. We travel often, alone, we have no family, we are not native. But it wasn't just the violence, that was bad enough but they were violent times."

Methos stopped, seeing Richie's perplexed expression. He sometimes forgot how much the world had changed, how repulsive the casual violence of his own ancient past was. He let a wry grin crease his face.

"The world was different then, I feel like I say that a lot." Richie attempted a smile in return but it didn't reach his eyes. "'Life was nasty, brutish, and short' as Hobbes said. Cruelty and pain were to be expected. I endured pain but I also inflicted it." Methos looked down at his hands, unable for a moment to meet Richie's eyes.

"Is that why…the Horsemen?" Richie's voice was almost apologetic at mentioning that episode of the older man's life.

"Perhaps. By that time I was a thousand years old, a thousand years of love and loss and violence. And I was angry, angry at the world at the universe for making me this way…But this was after, perhaps it was a punishment. At the time I certainly thought so. I was captured, one of the barbarian horde as Rome would later say. I knew that once they stripped off my battle garb that I would look young, they thought me exotic." Methos grinned that smug, too-knowing look that was so familiar.

"I was sold. I had been a slave before, had been beaten into submitting, into doing manual labor, had been taken by force. I endured, but this time I was bought by an immortal. He thought that I was very young, that I had had my first death in the battle. He wanted meek obedience, and I gave it to him. I thought it was the best way to survive, bide my time. Whatever he wanted, I even pretended to enjoy it. He liked to uh…watch. He would give me to traders, mercenaries, barbarians, tell them that I could take whatever punishment…flogging is a perennial favorite…"

And for a moment it was like he was there again. They had moved around a lot but Methos felt like he could smell the wood-fire smoke, the unwashed bodies of the men he had been given to, the German forest outside. Methos's voice was impassive as he recounted the episode. He had been flogged and Methos had cried out like the weak, submissive slave that he was. It was what _he_ wanted, his master. Methos had felt the man's eyes on him as he was passed around. Phantom pain spiked across his back as he remembered being laid on a table. His legs had been lifted and he had been impaled without preamble.

Methos made a coughing sound, as he recalled almost choking on the flesh that had filled his mouth even as he was being fucked, filled, surrounded. He didn't even see the tears that filled Richie's eyes. But it was what occurred after being raped that Methos dreaded remembering. When he had lain exhausted on the dirt floor, covered in his own blood and other men's cum. Then his master would come to him, offering comfort, wanting Methos to cling to his strength. And the worst was that Methos had wanted to take that consolation. It had been easy to nuzzle the man's neck. It had felt good to have the man's arms around him, gathering him up, bathing him off.

So good that when the immortal had led his slave to his own bed, Methos had been only too willing to please him. Methos had been treated as a dog, an infant, and a porcelain doll all wrapped together. It wasn't the first time that his body had been taken without his consent but it was the first time that he had used it to gain an advantage. It wasn't the violence, it was that he had participated in his own defilement. He was with that master for a long time, two hundred and fifty years.

The story was halted by the feel of Richie's arms encircling him, and Methos was suddenly aware of how much his story had been affecting his listener. He felt ridiculously touched that Richie wanted to shield him from the pain of his own past. Damn he had been telling the story to reassure the younger man, to show Richie that he wasn't alone in his experiences, that it was ok to talk about. Methos knew that he had been a fool to think that the memories wouldn't still be painful. Great, show the kid that the pain never goes away, that's the message he wanted to send.

Methos restrained a sigh as he brought his own arms up to wrap around the other man. He couldn't tell Richie that he would forget but he could show the youth that he could move on, still live and still love, still let himself be loved.

He pulled back out of Richie's embrace just a little and brought his hands up to the beautiful freckled face. He looked into those blue eyes that shone now with sadness and concern and spoke softly, "Thank you." Then he laid gentle kisses all over Richie's face and finally his lips.

Then he stood up. Methos could feel Richie's surprise. "Come on, let's make dinner." He didn't miss the young man's relief either. This wasn't tit for tat, a story for a story. Richie would talk when he was ready and Methos would only try to make the other immortal comfortable.


	5. Chapter 5

Richie got up as well and followed him outside to start the grill. Dinner was a quiet affair. Not the silence of people thinking up ways to fill it but the silence of people just thinking. Afterwards they sat on the beach, drinking beer, staring at the surf.

Eventually they went inside to bed, but Methos wasn't done yet. He went to his room, put on a pair of sweatpants. After brushing his teeth, Methos knocked on Richie's bedroom door. He was unsurprised to see Richie simply lying in bed staring at the ceiling when the he opened the door. The young man simply watched him as he approached the side of the bed.

"Mind if I sleep with you…just sleep."

Richie nodded, obviously still hesitant. They laid there side by side on their backs, staring at the ceiling. Eventually Richie turned on to his stomach to get comfortable, his face turned toward Methos. The older immortal didn't acknowledge the young man's open consideration of him. Didn't move until Richie laid his hand on Methos's chest. It was just a hand, just a touch, but it was a connection and Methos let a small smile turn up his lips. He cupped the hand on his breast, rubbing his thumb along the back. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a small smile on Richie's lips as well.

But then it disappeared and Richie spoke. "What happened to Mac, after?'

It wasn't the question Methos was expecting, but perhaps it should have been. Richie, despite the betrayals, loved MacLeod and needed the Highlander's love in return. All children eventually learn that their idol has feet of clay, but not all children almost died during the lesson…or had such extensive backgrounds of rejection. It was so easy to put MacLeod up on a pedestal. Methos was guilty of doing so as was MacLeod himself. So it wouldn't be surprising if Richie had found some way for this to be his fault, that he hadn't been good enough. If he had been Mac would have loved him more, loved him enough not to hurt him. Again.

Methos swallowed and turned on his side to face the younger man, keeping hold of Richie's hand. "He was devastated," Methos repeated. "He didn't want to live with what he had done, that he had killed you. He asked me to take his head. I refused." Richie's eyes had filled with tears and he was silently shaking. Finally Methos thought. Finally Richie was going to cry, to let it all out, let himself feel the pain of this newest crisis.

He enfolded the youth in his arms, holding Richie as the dam broke and the redhead sobbed into his chest. Methos leaned a little further onto his back, taking Richie with him. He continued speaking, wanting the whole story out, wanting Richie to know.

"After I refused, he ran off, taking one of your riding gloves and leaving the katana. He apparently caught the first plane out east. Joe…" Methos's own breath caught. "Joe cried for you. We buried you in Paris."

He hugged the trembling form tighter. He remembered carrying Richie's body to the car, driving it to a discreet funeral parlor. The pain in his own heart was a stunning reminder to how close he had come to never having this opportunity, never holding Richie in his arms, never kissing those perfect lips. The younger immortal quickly cried himself to sleep, but Methos stayed awake for a long while, savoring the moment in case this was all he ever got.

When they awoke still curled around one another, Methos was surprised that Richie didn't immediately pull away. He could tell that the young man was awake, but Richie actually burrowed deeper into his arms.

"Thank you." Methos couldn't tell what Richie was thanking him for, for holding him, for telling him, for not taking MacLeod's head. The ancient man decided it didn't matter, particularly when he felt the soft press of lips on his collar bone.

Spreading his large hands out, one supporting the back of Richie's head and the other on the man's lower back, Methos rolled slightly onto his side again. But Richie didn't look into his eyes, the young man leaned in for a kiss. It took a great effort for Methos to refrain from crushing Richie to him.

Richie took advantage of the space between them to slide his hands down Methos's chest, exploring the delineated muscles, brushing softly over the hard nipples. Methos mirrored the younger immortal's motion, noting with satisfaction the shudder that ran through the kid when his thumb flicked a nipple. He moved his hands down to the waistband of Richie's sweatpants, pleased when he felt hands on his own pants. Richie took the plunge first, swiftly pulling Methos's pants down over the older man's erection as if diving off of a cliff.

As Methos finished freeing Richie, their lips broke apart. Richie was gasping in air like a drowning man, but his hand firmly stroked Methos's sex. When Methos reciprocated, the redhead let out a deep breath, apparently realizing that he could do this, be there with Methos instead of in his memories. Richie swept his lips against Methos's, laying soft kisses against the older man's mouth as their hands stroked faster, bringing them both to a swift climax.

They lay there panting for a moment, but then Methos gave in. He crushed the younger man to his chest, claiming his mouth. When he finally let Richie go though, the blue eyes were bright and sparkling with amusement and maybe a little wonder.

"Come on," Methos said with a little laugh, unable to control his own good humour. He gave Richie a playful shove which resulted in a laugh from his bed partner. "You get a shower, I'll start the coffee." Methos pulled up his sweatpants and exited the kid's room. He stopped at his own bathroom to rinse the cum off of his chest before going to the kitchen.

They spent the day doing the same things they had done yesterday and the day before. But everything seemed a little different, infused with anticipation, with joy, and their roughhousing triggered secret smiles. Again they ended the day with beers on the beach, in silence. Richie seemed a little withdrawn at that moment, thinking deep thoughts. When the young man got up, Methos didn't follow immediately, letting the other immortal have a little time.

Methos entered the bungalow to find Richie sitting on the couch again. Richie hadn't turned on any lights so neither did Methos. He sat on the couch, leaning his back against the armrest and pulling the redhead's back against his chest, cradling Richie with his body. Methos waited for Richie to speak, lazily stroking a finger up and down a tanned arm and resting his cheek on the curls that were growing back.

At last, Richie broke the silence. "I was seven. After Emily died, I was termed 'difficult to place'. My foster parents then were young, no other kids. He was…great at first, really seemed to care, to want to get to know me even after I 'acted out'. Even after he started…touching me, I still wanted him to like me. I would have done anything. I really thought that was love, I was so stupid!"

Methos held Richie tight. "You were a child." He said firmly.

"I know." Richie's voice was quiet and he took a deep shuddering breath. Methos knew that this was only the tip of the iceberg but he didn't really need to hear the rest, he just needed Richie to know that he would hear it.

They sat there for a long moment. Then Richie got up, leaving Methos suddenly cold. But Richie reached for his hand, leading Methos into Richie's bedroom. Once inside, Richie kissed him. The kiss wasn't hurried, not like Methos had expected it to be, like Richie was just trying to get it over with. It was tender and exploring, slow and passionate.

They were already half dressed so it didn't take long to lose their swim trunks. Richie's eyes skimmed appreciatively over Methos's body like he had never really looked before. Methos took the time to look over his partner as well though he had surreptitiously been looking for years. It felt good to be allowed to do so openly.

Richie was beautiful like an Adonis, like a furred Greek statue. He was all rounded muscles, like a gymnast, compact but with an air of frenetic energy, like a bomb about to go off. God he had to get the kid on the bed or he was going to go off.

He stepped back into Richie's space and Richie opened his arms nervously, as if anticipating rejection. Methos smiled softly as he stepped into the circle of arms, raising his own to gently lay the young man down on the bed. It was a delicate balance. Richie was nervous, slightly passive. He restrained his responses, his moans were quiet. Methos had to consciously remember to take it easy. It was not the time coax screams out of the kid.

But still Methos couldn't restrain his delight or the smile on his lips, in his eyes. He took his time also because he wanted to. He trailed his lips over every inch of skin not only to soothe Richie's nerves but also because he wanted to know everything about his new lover. And because he wanted to imprint his touch on the perfect skin. Gods it had been a long time since he had been this possessive.

But it was too early for claiming, for possessing. Thoroughly laving Richie's sex with his own saliva, Methos gently reversed their positions so that he was on the bottom. Richie's eyes were beautiful, shining with uncertainty and lust and maybe just a little wonder.

Fortunately Methos had had millennia to learn how to relax enough that the lack of preparation wouldn't matter. He didn't want to scare the younger man with the intricacies of male sex at that very moment. At that moment, Methos just wanted them joined together as quickly as humanly possible.

So he wrapped his long legs around the tiny waist of his partner and guided Richie's cock into his body with a hand. Gods it was amazing. Richie seemed more confident in that position. And he was a quick learner, changing the angle of his thrusts, until Methos gave up even the pretense of controlling the encounter, until all the ancient man could do was moan in approval. It was a desperate yielding of his body to the young man, whatever he needed Methos would give.

And if Richie didn't feel that this was anything more than good sex, an opportunity for a new experience, to get over his fear of being with another man that was fine. At least that's what Methos told himself as his eyes closed, his back arched, as a profound ache suffused his body. But then he felt fingertips, softly tracing the lines of his face. Methos opened his eyes to see Richie staring intently down at his face and he had to stop himself from reading too much into that regard. Richie's hand then wrapped around Methos's rigid sex but his blue eyes never left his elder partner's face.

Methos did go off like a rocket then.


	6. Chapter 6

Six Months later…

Six Months later…

Richie woke in their bed; Methos's long limbs a comforting weight across him. _Their _bed, it had never been his bed but now it was their bed. Richie shifted, trying not to wake his bed partner but wanting to look at Methos. Who would have thought that he'd be here? And yet it was so easy being with the old man. Easy to be silent, easy to talk, to cry, to divulge everything. Who knew that they were so alike? Actually, Mac knew. He had told Richie so once. At the time Richie had been indignant to be compared to the snarky old bastard. And Methos certainly was a snarky old bastard it just wasn't all that he was.

Methos was actually fun. It was sort of amazing, in Richie's experience not many immortals had any idea what fun was. Maybe that's the secret to living five thousand years, not forgetting how to be 'just a guy'. Richie looked down at Methos's distinctive features. Joking Richie had asked him once what the secret was. Methos had become serious and said he had never intended to live this long, he had always wanted just one more day. And then Methos had kissed him softly as he repeated, just one more day. Richie almost blushed to think about it. Methos made him feel so…he didn't know, special, cherished, loved?

Even the sex had been easy, relatively. Richie had always thought, he'd do it one day, be with a man. All immortals seemed to experiment eventually and surely the memories would eventually fade. But it wasn't that the memories had faded it was that Methos drove them away. Actually the man was able to drive _all thought _away. The sex was good, amazingly good. Methos was way better than Kristin but then she hadn't had five thousand years in which to master the movement of every muscle in the human body. And it was in their bed that Methos lost all of the hunted look in his eyes, that calculating, wary look. That look never spoiled their fun, Methos could find humour in the most dire of circumstances but without it, Methos looked completely guileless. They came together without reservations, without boundaries. Well…almost. Richie knew that the older man wanted to 'top', wanted to be inside him. He knew because of teasing touches and a probing tongue at his entrance. And Richie wanted to, really. It wasn't macho bullshit about being penetrated that stopped him. He trusted Methos, he did, but he couldn't stop that nagging voice in his head that said that this wasn't anything but a diversion for the ancient man. That said that Methos couldn't possibly love him, that no one could, that Richie didn't deserve love.

Richie sighed. He had not gone into this relationship looking for _love_. Comfort, release, pleasure, perhaps he had been the one to need a diversion from thinking about the demon, about Mac, about Joe, about…everything. Now though, it was time to stop thinking and go on. He had told Methos last night that he wanted to go, to see MacLeod. The man haunted his dreams again, but this time when he woke up in a cold sweat, Methos was there, holding him, comforting him with his words and his body and his heart. Richie's eyes roamed over the athletic form again, thinking that as long as Methos was with him that he would be able to confront anything.


	7. Chapter 7

Joe sat on a stool at one end of his bar in Paris, facing the door

Joe sat on a stool at one end of his bar in Paris, facing the door. He didn't know when he had become so paranoid. Or when he had started drinking so early in the day, he thought as he lifted his glass of whiskey to his lips again. It had been a hard year and a half though it had been quiet. Macleod was back in town but not himself and the fucking barge looked like a feng shui dream. Some might think that Joe's art would have been helped by all this tragedy, that he would have written dozens of new songs pouring out his heartache. But he really hadn't written much since…Wadsworth had been right, some thoughts really did lie too deep for tears or even song.

And then one of his miscreant immortal charges walked right in through his fucking front door. Methos. His anger surged up like a fireball, hot and irrational, choking his thoughts before they could be formed into words. His hesitation allowed him time to notice a few things about the lanky immortal walking cautiously towards him. The ancient man's cocky gait was somehow unnatural, forced. Methos was nervous. The thought shocked and appalled the watcher. Methos was a master at hiding his feelings, at staying calm in the face of danger. If Joe could see the old man's anxiety then the end of the world must be at hand.

"Joe." Methos's voice was strong and appropriately cheerful as if he really were there for nothing more than to greet an old friend.

"You sorry son of a bitch!"

For a moment Methos looked properly chastened, but it faded quickly to be replaced by a hardly apologetic grin.

"Really, is that any way to welcome an old friend?"

"Yeah emphasis on the old. What are you doing here? Or more to the point what do you want?"

"Joe." In an instant the affable tone was gone and Methos spoke in a clipped British accent. "I need…"

"No. I don't care what you need. You can't just waltz back in here and expect me to…"

"Joe." Methos's voice changed again, this time to a softer more pleading tone that brought to mind their shared past, the times that Methos had saved the day and even the times before MacLeod when Joe had only known him as a brilliant, socially awkward protégé doted on by Don Salzer. Joe sighed, this had better be good.

"I need you to come to my apartment with me. Now. I have something to show you, something important." Methos's voice was all sincere earnestness and Joe couldn't tell whether it was a lie or not.

God he wanted to believe in the old man again, in them all again. But his illusions had been shattered one too many times. He had been living in a fairy tale back then, believing them all to be united for the greater good despite the old man's words. The illusion had been chipped at, carved away like the fjords under a glacier. And pathetically he felt like a kid who had been told that both Santa and the Easter bunny didn't exist, disappointed and betrayed.

Even if Methos wasn't a knight in shining armour, the man had never done anything to warrant the suspicion they all gave him. So the old man wasn't the best at sticking around to deal with the painful emotional fall out, but who was he to expect the anyone to do so. He was a grown man who had no business to judge anyone, least of all a man whom he suspected had been dealing with the fall of his own hero.

With determination he didn't feel, Joe stood up and followed the lanky figure out the door.

He spent the short trip to Methos's new apartment surreptitiously cataloguing the changes in his old friend. Methos's hair had grown out again. It was long in a way that made Joe think that maybe the man hadn't given it enough thought to have it cut. And the normally alabaster skin had a tan to it. A good tan. Joe had never really thought that Methos would go to Bora Bora mostly because it was where the old man said he would go and he never believed anything that came out of that lying mouth.

He was also surprised at the apartment building they pulled up at. It was nice, well not fancy or anything but nicer than Adam Pierson normally stayed at. And the inside, it didn't look like Methos at all except in the odd artifacts scattered around. The apartment seemed comfortable. It lacked that weird modern furniture that always made Joe wonder if it was actually meant to be sat on.

Methos's nervousness had heightened dramatically making the man seem preternaturally still, he was holding himself so tightly. The immortal gestured rigidly to a plush looking lounge chair and then disappeared into what Joe assumed was the bedroom. From his perch, he could hear Methos's voice, quietly talking in reassuring tones. That piqued his watcher interest considerably. Methos's voice had taken on a richness, a warmth that Joe had never heard before, or at least not since Alexa.

And then a ghost walked in. It was a good thing Joe was already sitting down because he definitely would have fallen on his face because Richie Ryan was standing in the doorway. And he looked miraculously untouched by recent events. In fact he looked…good, nervous, sheepish, but good. He was still tan, still muscled, but his curls had grown out like Methos's, in an I-don't-give-a-damn way.

Joe raised his arms and Richie was there and they were hugging, Joe squeezing so hard it was a good thing that the kid was immortal. He felt like he couldn't breathe, worried in a detached way if he was having a heart attack. He didn't want to let go, but his grip eased and Richie seemed to understand and simply knelt on the floor in front of the chair. And the kid was smiling, an honest to God, hadn't been seen since before Mac's dark quickening, Richie Ryan light up the room smile that sparkled in his bright blue eyes.

"How?" The question hung in the air between them, making them all uncomfortable. Richie raised his face to look at Methos. It was then that Joe realized something was off. Methos was acting strange. He was hovering by Richie's side, unobtrusive but there, protective and possessive of the young man. And Richie seemed to be acknowledging him, acknowledging the elder immortal and the possession, seeking comfort from Methos and giving it.

Then Methos answered him in a calm voice that held just a trace of amusement. "We don't know." The tone said and we don't care. That was fine by Joe, he wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth. There was only one other question.

"Does MacLeod know?"


	8. Chapter 8

Joe sat at a table in his bar

Joe sat at a table in his bar. It was well before opening, still morning but he was already nursing a glass of Scotch. On the table were another glass and the bottle because he was expecting company. Grimly he asked himself for the five millionth time how he let himself get talked into this.

FLASHBACK In the aftermath of Joe's question, Richie had stood up and moved away to sit on the couch, obviously tense now. Methos had motioned for Joe to follow him into the kitchen. The barman had leaned against the kitchen counter, watching Richie flip through a magazine and pretend not to know that they were talking about him.

"We'd uh like your help with that actually." Methos said a bit sheepishly. "There's a good chance that MacLeod will not take the news quite as well as you did." Methos's face turned suddenly hard, the lack of emotion on his features signaling the depth of emotion the ancient immortal was feeling. "I don't want Richie hurt anymore, so we'd like you to prepare the way."

Joe was so stunned by all the use of the word 'we' to describe Methos and Richie that he almost didn't catch what Methos was really asking. "You want me to tell Mac?"

He couldn't refuse, he owed Richie at least this much if not a whole lot more. So here Joe was, waiting for MacLeod and praying that they both survived the encounter. Speak of the devil.

MacLeod strode into the room, obviously discomfited by Joe's message to meet this morning. Joe had said on the message that no one was in danger of any kind but Mac seemed to still be expecting the worst. Well there was no reason to drag it out. Joe only waited until the immortal had taken a seat across from him at the table.

"Richie's alive."

Mac's eyes narrowed and he literally growled at Joe. "What are you talking about?"

"Richie is alive," Joe spoke slowly, enunciating each word despite the fear that was curling in his belly. He had only been afraid of his friend once before. "Goddammit Joe! Richie's dead! I killed him, I took his quickening." Mac's anger turned into anguish halfway through the outburst.

"I don't know how or why, Mac, but Richie Ryan is alive, here in Paris and he wants to see you."

"NO!" The word was a roar heard well above the clatter of Mac's chair hitting the floor as he stood up explosively. "If he is alive, then he's safer far away from me."

"Mac, you can't be serious that you don't want to see me," Joe was stunned.

"I am Joe. I have never done anything but hurt and disappoint him. I can't go through this again."

Joe levered himself up to stand as well, leveling an expert glare at the immortal across from him. "I am not going to argue with you about past mistakes, but you are not going to disappoint that boy now! He needs to see you and you are damn well going to oblige him!"


	9. Chapter 9

Author's Note: Thanks to everyone who reviewed, and to everyone who's reading and not reviewing, I'm begging, please

Author's Note: Thanks to everyone who reviewed, and to everyone who's reading and not reviewing, I'm begging, please. Anyway, I really didn't intend for this to be this long but it's gonna get longer so stick with it. Don't worry I know where I'm going with this.

Duncan's thoughts spun around in his head, circling around a certain redhead, as if his thoughts hadn't been filled with Richie for the past year and a half.

Richie alive? How could he be? God, how Duncan wanted to believe it, not only because he missed the young man but also because that would mean Duncan hadn't hurt the boy. It felt like the whole thing had happened yesterday. But _it _didn't just _happen_. _He _did it, _he_ killed Richie, his student, his son. Even if Richie was alive, it wouldn't absolve him of any guilt.

Duncan could still remember the beginning. The four hundred year old immortal had not really been that enthusiastic about following through on the pledge he gave his kinsman to begin with. By the time, he and Tessa came back from the cabin, the troublesome teen had been nowhere in evidence. Duncan had finally tracked him down to a warehouse where the teen had been living. The kid was lying amongst artfully arranged cardboard and Duncan could clearly see recent bruises on his face and his clothes were torn and dirty. At least the night of the break-in the kid had been wearing clean if worn clothes, but then…Richie had apparently needed the money after all. Duncan never found out who or why, Richie wouldn't talk about it.

His heart had gone out to the boy immediately. He took the kid to the hospital, Richie kicking and screaming the whole way. Richie was tough, turned out he had been beaten pretty severely, broken wrist, cracked cheekbone, and several broken ribs, one of which had punctured an internal organ. If Duncan hadn't found him when he did…still if he hadn't been wallowing in his own guilt and he would have found the boy sooner.

Perhaps he should have sent the boy away but Richie had filled places in Duncan's heart that he hadn't even been aware of, with his joy, his smile and laughter, with his bright blue eyes that looked up at Duncan with such need. But everything changed when Richie became immortal.

Mako was a wake-up call. Duncan had been expecting Richie, training the boy to be just like him. But Richie made his own decision about Mako for his own reasons. Duncan had been upset and resolved to treat the boy as any other student. After the first head, it was traditional for the student to leave the teacher, to go out into the world to experience life on their own. He knew Richie wasn't ready, but he had been determined to distance himself. But it had hurt so much that he hadn't even been able to look the boy in the eye, eyes he knew would be filled with their own pain.

But Richie returned, forgave him, hugged him and everything was back to normal.

And then the dark quickening. Everyone forgave Duncan, said that it wasn't really him. And it wasn't, but it was still his fault. It was his fault for running headlong into an unknown situation with no thought to anyone but himself and his need to help no matter the danger to anyone else, everyone around him.

When he finally found Richie again, the boy's anger surprised him. He hadn't wanted to take any responsibility for Richie's pain or his actions. But he was responsible. Oh he knew that Richie's actions were his own, but Duncan, an adult, a mentor, attacked a boy barely out of his teens. Why was he surprised that Richie had responded with violence and aggression? And Duncan threw it in the boy's face that he wasn't Richie's father, that he couldn't be his protector. But Richie would always be more to Duncan, he was family. Duncan should have told him that.

Did he even apologize to Richie? He didn't think so but Richie had forgiven him again, though things were slower getting back to normal. Richie had changed, grown up, yes, but in some ways the man that came back was more like the boy Duncan had found in that warehouse. Beaten down, wary, remote, self-conscious, Richie smiled and laughed less, searched for truths that hadn't come from his mentor.

And still when everyone else abandoned Duncan, Richie stood by him, believed him and believed in him. And Duncan had rewarded the boy's loyalty with death. He should never have raised a blade anywhere in Richie's vicinity again.

Richie's quickening had been terrible, full of betrayal and rage. The young man had endured so much in his short life, such pain, pain that Richie never acknowledged, that never showed on his face. Pain that Richie had beaten back with laughter and smiles and sheer ferocity of will. But Duncan hadn't felt that in the quickening which was strange.


	10. Chapter 10

Richie couldn't sleep

Richie couldn't sleep. Big surprise. He and Methos had spent the day working out, running, and sparring, but it hadn't helped the storm brewing inside. Methos had been calm throughout, but had not tried to calm Richie. The ancient man had tried to give him outlets for his anger, listened to him rant, and opened his arms to hold Richie, not minding when Richie clung to him, only stroked his back.

Like now as Richie lay curled on his side, leaning against Methos's chest as the other man leaned against the arm of the couch. He could hear the rhythm of Methos's ancient heart beneath his ear, felt Methos's warmth and the soft pressure of Methos's cheek against the top of his head, Methos's smell was all around him, but still Richie's thoughts raced.

He was reasonably sure that Mac would be happy to see him. But would it be awkward? What would either of them say…Hey Rich, sorry I tried to kill you again. Oh that's all right, Mac, no big deal.

Richie was fairly certain that he snorted out loud rather than in his head but Methos's hands never stopped their caress. What did he feel? He was angry, duh, hurt, betrayed…afraid. Richie was afraid that Mac didn't love him, didn't want him, never had.

During the Ahriman fiasco, Richie had understood that to stand by Mac meant to be in danger. He accepted that risk and would again. What he really wanted was Mac to acknowledge him, tell him that he meant something to the older immortal.

Speaking of declaring one's feelings, Richie lifted his head, sat up and turned to look Methos in the eyes.

"Thank you."

"Rich, you don't have to thank me." But Methos's smile belied the words. The words still meant something.

"I know but I wanted to tell you how much it means to me. You don't make me feel stupid for needing help." Richie lifted his hand to stroke the plane of Methos's cheek. "Because I'm not alone. You let me hold you through your nightmares, share your fears…it helps."

The look on Methos's face was like the sun breaking through clouds and the answering emotions flooding through Richie threatened to drown him.

Richie's voice choked embarrassingly, but he didn't feel embarrassed. "You're beautiful, you know…everything, everything about you." Richie couldn't continue, could only hope that Methos understood what he meant, that he wasn't just talking about his body. Oh, Methos's body was gorgeous, his porcelain skin, his flat-planed, clearly seen muscles, his eyes, lips. Richie almost laughed, he'd never really looked at men as beautiful before but Methos was. But Methos was also beautiful on the inside as cliché as it sounded. All of Methos, the good and bad, his courage and his fears, strengths and weaknesses.


	11. Chapter 11

Author's note:

Author's note: Thanks so much to everyone who reviewed, it really keeps me on track. This chapter was difficult (what would _you_ say to the mentor that tried to kill you three times?) but I hope you like it and I hope I'm not getting too sappy.

Duncan waited by the door of Joe's living room waiting for the buzz to hit him. Joe's house, neutral ground, Duncan was just grateful that Richie hadn't insisted on meeting at on Holy Ground. Then he felt it, two of them. The door opened and there he was. Richie. And Duncan didn't move.

It was awkward, painfully so. Duncan didn't know what to do, what to say and neither did Richie to judge by his face. Duncan took a step forward, and then so did Richie…

The moment broke and he pulled the beloved figure into his arms. He was probably crushing the young man, but Duncan couldn't get his arms to loosen like he couldn't loosen the knot around his heart, the band that was making it difficult to breathe. He collapsed onto the nearest object which fortunately was Joe's couch, and pulled Richie onto his lap, not caring what the young man had to say about it.

At that moment, he sincerely wished that he were Richie's father. He had wished that before though. And then the tears started to fall as the shock wore off, both men sobbing aloud.

"Richie, I'm so sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry…" Duncan felt like he couldn't stop saying it. Who knows for how long he did say it, but eventually other thoughts crept in, dark thoughts.

Duncan pulled back to look at Richie's face. "I can't protect you. I can't promise that I'll never do it again, that I'll never hurt you…."

"Don't you think I know that?! I figured out after the dark quickening that just being near you is dangerous, but I accepted that risk, just to be near you but…I thought that you didn't…that you stopped…" Richie's voice choked with sobs.

"That I didn't love you." Duncan's voice was quiet and he felt ice-cold inside.

"Yes and it hurt!" Richie's voice was a wail that cut deep into Duncan. "God, Mac, nothing hurt that much, not dying, not being beaten or raped!"

His piteous wail stopped abruptly as the young man realized what he had said. Richie tried to hold himself still so as not to call attention to it, but the redhead was gasping and hiccupping in Duncan's arms.

"Richie, when?"

The young man attempted to shrug but he was being held too tight to complete the movement. "Before you knew me…in the group home."

"You never said anything."

"Well we didn't talk about a lot of things." Richie's voice was curt, harsh. Duncan felt like he'd been punched in the gut. Suddenly a lot of things were clearer.

When had being the white knight become more important than being a friend, a mentor, a lover? No they hadn't talked, not about the boy's past, not about Tessa's death, Mako, the dark quickening…He had been so involved in ridding the earth of evil immortals that he had forgotten that the world could be changed one life at a time, that Richie needed more than a roof over his head and food in his stomach.

Instead Duncan had turned out to be just like all of Richie's other foster parents. Worse, that's how Richie saw him too. Duncan had doled out scraps of affection and Richie, ravenous, had never thought to ask for more. But Richie was here, wanted to see him, wanted to put this all back together.

"I'm so sorry Richie, I wish I could take back so many things…It hurt me too, to think that I had done that."

"I know and I'm sorry."

Duncan had already had his second chance, but this time he vowed to make the most of it and damn his pride and his stubbornness. He was going to tell Richie, show the lad, all of his friends how much they mean to him.


	12. Chapter 12

Methos waited outside the door, listening intently

Author's note: Does Joe know what's going on between Methos and Richie? Stay tuned to see how Duncan reacts. Oh and please review and tell me what you like/ don't like, or even what you think should happen. Thanks

Methos waited outside the door, listening intently. He knew Joe was watching him, that the man had picked up on his protective behavior. The man was too good a Watcher not to have noticed, but so far Joe hadn't said anything about it. Maybe he's learned to mind his own business, Methos thought. Not bloody likely.

It had been silent in the living room for several minutes, which Methos took as his cue to interrupt. He didn't think they needed to spend too much time together this first meeting. He was surprised but pleased by the sight of Richie huddled in MacLeod's lap.

Nodding briefly to Richie, Methos stepped back out into the hallway again. "Looks like the reunion's going better than expected. I hope the good feelings last." He told Joe. Methos knew what Richie needed from MacLeod before his young lover had told him.

The ancient immortal had himself been angling for something along the same lines from the Highlander. Methos had sacrificed himself over and over for the man, but the great Duncan MacLeod hadn't seemed to care, like when Methos had gotten those files on Warren Cochrane and Mac had thrown them in the snow.

All of them, Methos, Joe, Richie, hell even Amanda, had done nothing but try to save and protect the self-righteous Scot, and more often than not MacLeod had bitched and moaned about it, because they had done things that _he_ wouldn't have done. Well guess what Mac? They weren't him, not even Richie, and there was room in the world for all different opinions.

Methos hoped that MacLeod had really learned his lesson this time, learned not to take Richie, or any of his friends for granted. Hopefully he would give Richie more affection, more trust, more of his time. But if MacLeod hurt Richie again, no matter the reason, Methos would take his head any way he could.

With that cheerful thought, Richie emerged from the room with red eyes and tense posture. The younger immortal was silent on the trip home and Methos did not try to fill that silence. He simply waited.

From the moment they entered their apartment, Richie tried to get as close as possible to Methos, stripping off their clothes and throwing them away as he pushed his older partner into the bedroom. Methos met Richie's caresses but did not really respond, not yet. He waited.

Richie pressed the lanky form into the mattress and nipped Methos's long neck in barely restrained urgency. But this wasn't forceful in the passionate way that they sometimes played with, Richie's urgency was that of a person hoping that in orgasm there would be a release from overwhelming emotions. Not that Richie was violent. When his fingers slid deep into Methos, it was in that overly gentle way that people use when they're fighting against being too rough, like drunks trying to set their glasses down gently.

Once inside, Richie pounded into Methos, drilling the slender body into the mattress beneath them in a fruitless attempt to obliterate his frustration. Methos didn't mind, for a time, the ancient man was lost in simple sensation. Richie was considerate, his thrusts angled so that they didn't slam painfully into Methos's prostate but close enough that the ancient man saw stars behind his eyelids. A few touches of Richie's hand and Methos's orgasm was like a tidal wave crashing over him.

But when his mind cleared, Methos was unsurprised that Richie was still hard inside him. Richie leaned over Methos, holding himself up on his elbows, his heaving chest brushing Methos's tantalizingly. The redhead's face was turned away, into Methos's shoulder.

This had happened before. Every time that Richie had confessed some new torment from his past, he would try to lose himself in physical desire. But the redhead never came that way. With a word and a tilt of his head, Methos signaled Richie to sit up on his heels, lifting Methos with him so that the dark haired man was sitting in his lap. The change in angle drew a groan from both sets of lips.

Methos kissed Richie tenderly, because that's what was needed. Richie's pain couldn't be driven out with violence but it could be assuaged with tenderness. They rocked together slowly, Richie clutching the pale form that now shone with sweat while long fingers skimmed lovingly over fine features and through damp curls. When Richie came it was only with a low moan and a shudder but the smile he turned up to Methos was content.


	13. Chapter 13

Author's note: Peya Luna: You read my mind about Mac's reaction

Author's note: Peya Luna: You read my mind about Mac's reaction. I guess it's not really a surprise.

Joe stood on the deck of the barge with Methos. Both men lost in their own thoughts rather than talking to one another, particularly since they were both listening to the cadence of the voices below.

The Watcher was also surreptitiously watching the world's oldest man, though that title was more difficult to believe lately than it had ever been. Methos seemed lighter, happier, younger than Joe had ever seen the man, even when he was 'Adam Pierson', even with Alexa.

And Richie had changed too. He seemed at ease, with himself and the world, self-confident, safe. The kid had never looked like that. Things were always blowing up in his face and Joe doubted that the whole Ahriman thing had lent a feeling of security to the kid.

MacLeod had noticed too, commented on it as the two men had waited for the other immortals' arrival. It occurred to Joe as they stood there, that neither he nor MacLeod had asked about where Methos had been. Where had he found Richie? When? What had the two immortals been doing that they now seemed so cozy?

Suddenly there was the sound of shouting coming from the cabin below. Before Joe really had a chance to move, Methos had sprinted inside. Joe could hear the immortals' words as he made his way down the stairs at a much slower pace.

"Methos, how could you?!" Duncan's angry voice resounded in the small space.

"It's not like you think MacLeod…" Methos obviously trying to keep his cool, but definitely exasperated at the Highlander's leap to conclusion.

"Like I think! I think that you took advantage of the boy while he was alone and frightened!"

"Hey, I'm right here guys! He's not 'taking advantage' Mac, God…" Finally Richie's voice broke through the older men's screaming match.

"Then what do you think you're doing?!"

"I love him!" Methos screamed.

The last words caused all four men to stop talking, the sound of heavy breathing clearly audible in the sudden silence. They stared at the oldest immortal, whom Joe was not surprised to see had placed himself in between Richie and MacLeod. Methos's head hung forward on his neck as he collected himself.

Slowly Methos turned and lifted his head to look at the redhead behind him. Though Joe couldn't see Richie's face, he could tell that the young man was stunned by the sudden admission.

Joe could clearly see the old man's face though, Methos's eyes were wide and dark with enlarged pupils and his face was white as a sheet.

"Richie…I…" There was vulnerability in Methos's eyes and a plea in his voice. The ancient immortal was for a moment at a loss for words.

"Can we talk about this later?" Methos asked.

For the only time since Joe had known the man, Methos seemed stripped bare of all artifice, it was like his soul was shining out of expressive eyes. The ancient man was completely defenseless to the boy before him.

Joe didn't know what answer Richie gave, the kid neither spoke nor moved his head. But Richie must have given some indication that Methos must have liked because the old man then gently cupped Richie's cheek. Richie allowed the gesture, even bringing his own slender hand up to cover Methos's larger one. And then Methos kissed the kid's forehead in a gesture of such innocent love that it literally made Joe's chest ache.

Richie kept his head bowed as Methos whispered in his ear and then the old man was gesturing for Joe to precede him back up on deck. They left student and teacher there, both still silent.

Out on deck, Joe didn't ask questions of his ancient friend, didn't accuse the other man. He only had to replay Methos's words, his touch and he knew all he needed to know about their relationship.

They weren't outside long before Richie joined them. Still none of them spoke. Richie took Methos's hand right in front of Joe and led the older immortal away, giving Joe only a sad smile in explanation.


	14. Chapter 14

Again Richie was silent as Methos drove them back to the barge

Again Richie was silent as Methos drove them back to the barge. Methos was one of the few people he had ever felt comfortable being silent around. Richie could feel an odd smile playing around his lips and he turned his face into the window to conceal it from his companion.

That scene back at the barge had been odd to say the least. Mac had wanted to know how Methos had found Richie, where they had been. Richie had told the older man everything that he knew which wasn't much.

Reluctantly the redhead had admitted to not wanting to see his mentor at first. Richie had quickly tried to reassure Mac that he had just needed time…but Mac had picked up on the fact that Richie must have spent the extra six months in Methos's company.

Already frowning at his student spending time with that 'bad influence' Methos, Mac wanted to know what they had done together. And Richie had blushed as deeply as his mentor's burgundy shirt. Mac had almost broken a blood vessel then.

But Richie felt good about it. His smile widened a little was he remembered defending Methos to Duncan. Really, what was the old man supposed to do? He can't exactly restrict himself to his own age group now can he?

Getting it out into the open felt good. After Methos had left and they had both calmed down, Mac hadn't rejected him or continued to rant, instead Mac pulled him into a hug. For once, the man was going to let Richie make his own decisions, perhaps his own mistakes.

Mac had said that he would be there for Richie no matter what, that Richie could talk to him about anything. The Highlander had jokingly said that he would try listening for once. And Richie really wanted to be able to talk to Mac about the relationship that had quickly become really important to him. He wanted Mac to just be there for him, for him to talk to, get advice from without having his head bitten off or being ignored, his concerns dismissed. And that's what he had told Mac. Obviously this whole communicating thing was no joke.

And Methos had said that he loved Richie. It was like the last shackle had been removed and Richie felt light and unburdened. Happy, just happy.

Finally they arrived at their apartment and Richie jumped out of the car, letting his smile cover his face and practically yanking the old man inside by his wrist. At the door to their bedroom though, Methos yanked back. With laughing eyes, Methos lifted Richie's wrist to his mouth, nipping the sensitive inner skin and then trailing his tongue in intricate patterns over it.

Richie groaned, "God, yes baby." Methos's chuckle was a warm breath against his skin and Richie smiled as he pulled the taller form against him hard. The younger man loved calling the ancient immortal that and he got the feeling that Methos liked it too. It was possessive and Richie was now certain that the other man did belong to him. For himself, Richie knew that he had been captured a long time ago and now he was ready to prove it.

"Say it." Richie's voice was soft but commanding. He could see Methos swallow, his Adam's apple bobbing in that elegant throat, but the other man kept his eyes on Richie's own, not pretending not to understand.

Richie waited patiently despite the intense silence. "I love you."

The redhead tore off their clothes then. Literally, Methos's undershirt was a goner as was the zipper on Richie's jeans. Tumbling into the bed, Richie positioned himself underneath his partner and said confidently, "I want you to take me."

Methos's eyes widened but he didn't diminish the moment by asking if Richie was sure. The long fingers began to wander immediately. Gentle but insistent, they pushed Richie's thighs apart and Methos settled between them.

Everywhere, Methos's hands stroked him everywhere, his mouth hot and demanding, his nails scraping sensitive flesh lightly. By the time that Methos inserted a finger, Richie was desperate. He wanted to feel Methos's body covering his, feel the other man's weight. He wanted to cradle Methos, to give the ancient pleasure from his body.

And then Methos touched that place inside. Richie knew what it was, but Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! He was arching up into Methos, bucking his hips, panting harshly. Methos entered him slowly, letting him feel everything. There was only a slight burn of discomfort, but Richie didn't care. His only thoughts were joyful.

He felt connected in an indescribable way, both in control and out of it at the same time. Richie had only thought to give Methos pleasure, but his own was overwhelming as Methos rocked into him, slow but hard. He barely recognized his own voice crying out in what had to be the longest orgasm of his life.

And afterwards Methos seemed so happy already that when Richie said, "I love you," it hardly seemed to matter. He knew, they both did long before now.

It wasn't until later that Richie realized that he hadn't thought at all about any of his previous experiences.


	15. Chapter 15

Duncan wandered into Joe's Paris bar

Author's note: So this is the end. However I am probably going to do a sequel in which I answer questions like why/how Richie is alive? Did Ahriman fake Richie's death because it wanted to destroy Duncan's belief in himself or to destroy Richie's belief in others? How do the old man and his ancient past figure in? And is Ahriman really defeated or does something bigger loom on the horizon? Please tell me if anyone is interested in a sequel and if so feel free with the suggestions. I hope you liked this one!

Duncan wandered into Joe's Paris bar. It was fairly early still and the place was only half full. Joe was behind the bar and he immediately walked over to Duncan's normal barstool, bringing a bottle of scotch with him.

The Highlander had noticed the other immortals immediately but did not go over to where they sat at a nearby table. He took the drink Joe poured and just watched the two men together. Neither of them seemed concerned with his presence either.

Richie had his hand covering the older immortal's mouth. The redhead was laughing loudly and telling Methos to "Shut up!" Duncan couldn't help his own laugh and he heard Joe's raspy one from behind him too. How many times had the Highlander wanted to do the same thing to the old man?

"God, they act like five year olds," Joe said. Duncan didn't reply because Methos had apparently licked Richie's palm, causing the redhead to yell "Gross!" rather loudly. Then he wiped his hand on Methos's jeans, despite the older immortal's attempts to dissuade him.

Duncan glanced back at Joe as the two love birds continued to laugh at each other. "Makes you wonder how old Methos was when he died, huh? Lives were pretty short back then." The Scot nodded turning back to the floor show. He had often wondered the same thing.

Richie had leaned forward and despite that they were in public, Methos gave him a short kiss. When they parted they were both grinning like school boys, barely able to look at each other but incapable of drawing their eyes away. Duncan smiled and turned back to his bartender.

"Looks like love." Joe just laughed at that statement as if it had gone without saying, which it had. Duncan was getting used to it. He was worried that Methos wasn't the best partner for Richie, but Methos had kept Richie safe, made him happy. Everything else would just have to wait. And he would be here if anything happened, that Duncan swore.


End file.
